


Insomnia

by Jackeline Harkness (Jackeline_Harkness)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I should be working, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-24 17:49:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17708867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jackeline_Harkness/pseuds/Jackeline%20Harkness
Summary: Usually, dragons can take care of themselves.Sometimes, it takes an expert to take care of them.





	Insomnia

**Author's Note:**

> Seriously, I should be working... But I literally couldn't focus on anything until I got this out of my system.
> 
> I wrote this on my phone. It probably sucks and has a lot of mistakes. Will try to make it less messy later.
> 
> My first fic in this fandom... Sorry.

Insomnia.

As part of an organization that was better described as a band of weird vigilantes, all members of Overwatch were used to seeing shocking things on a daily basis. Even the younger, more innocent and idealistic of them had seen their fair share of complicated and ugly, and by now none were strangers to stress, nightmares, and sleepless nights.

They understood and supported each other like a family, better than in the old days when they’d had bigger numbers and much bigger resources, and they knew how to help one another when more than their bodies were injured on the line of their self-imposed duty. 

The job, if it could be called that, hadn’t been big. It hadn’t even involved any of the mercenary or terrorist organizations they usually dealt with. In fact, no one had been deployed. It just so happened that Hanzo, Lena, and Fareeha had been in the area when some small-time gang had lost its shit and their internal conflict had turned into a firefight that ended with a gas line being blown up and four blocks of old Naples thrown into utter chaos. The three agents had heard the explosion and, without even wasting a second to sigh forlornly at their abandoned meals, started running towards the area everyone else was running from, lack of equipment be damned.

The local police had been grateful, had readily given them a quick report on who the pieces of trash responsible for the incident were, and had let them go without asking a single question as to their identities or intentions, hero worship shining in their eyes.

Fareeha’s sprained wrist and Hanzo’s bruised side had been quickly patched up, and the incident quickly forgotten in favor of analyzing the newest information Athena had on Talon’s agents and whatever they were plotting over in Panama.

Hanzo had a bruise the size of a prize pumpkin along his right side, product of most of a wall collapsing on him while he got the perhaps-not-so-innocent civilians out of harm’s way during their anonymous rescue operation, and he’d complained exactly once about how it prevented him from sleeping on his right side like he preferred to. He had risen at the exact same hour as he did every day and gone through his routine of tea, exercise, shower, breakfast, just like usual. He’d attended the two meetings and been his usual quiet self through them, barely flinching when Reinhardt thrust a friendly elbow into his injured side. 

To the untrained eye, nothing seemed amiss. Jesse might have a ton of problems, but if there was something just fine in him, it was his eyes. And they were anything but untrained.

“What’s wrong, darlin’?” he’d asked, and Hanzo had only smiled and told him he’d just slept poorly because of his injury, given Jesse a small peck on the lips, and disappeared somewhere to fletch new arrows.

And like that, Jesse was officially worried.

If Hanzo had said he’d been sleeping poorly, Jesse knew it meant his lover hadn’t slept at all. For days, now, judging from the dark rings under his eyes and his movements losing some of their usual grace.

So while everyone got ready for the imminent next mission, Jesse asked Athena about the incident in Italy. 

The media had only reported it as a power struggle within the local gang, but a little digging gave Jesse what he was looking for: the leadership of the gang, formed by three siblings, had been at each other’s throats for a while now, until the conflict turned physical… and devolved into destruction.

Trying to talk to Hanzo about his inner demons was a delicate matter, and repeating what he already knew but still had to internalize was a sure way to get on his bad side, especially when he was exhausted. That would only lead to Hanzo snapping at him, and feeling like a cockroach once his temper cooled, and while their make-up sex was always amazing, Jesse didn’t want to make his lover feel worse than he already felt. 

The gunslinger sighed and, with a look at the cloudy sky outside, decided it was time for the big guns.

The dragon tamer, as Jesse had taken to call it in his mind, was an ancient, humongous rocking chair. He’d acquired it online and had it sent to a bogus address in Spain, and afterwards had hauled it in to Gibraltar with Fareeha’s help. Everyone had seen it, and immediately started mercilessly teasing him about it, mostly speculating on all kinds of kinks. He’d let them have their laughs, but after a couple days’ worth of jokes had started to grate on Hanzo’s nerves, Jesse had softly declared that it reminded him of his abuelita, God rest her soul, and all jokes had immediately ceased.

In reality, Jesse had intended to test a theory he’d developed after a mission gone wrong in Canada had left four of them trapped in an abandoned underground shopping mall with water to their hips. Lucio had been exhausted after almost two days of making sure nobody died of hypothermia, and even if no one had been seriously injured, everyone had been miserable.

Hanzo had been tense as the string of his bow, driving everyone up the wall with his incessant pacing in the tight confines of the transport, until Jesse had grabbed his wrist and pulled him onto his lap. The archer had protested against the PDA, and even cursed at him in Japanese so obscure that Jesse had a hard time making sense of the insults, but he’d only laughed, caged his still cold lover between his arms, and had started rocking him, mostly as a joke. It hadn’t happened immediately, but Hanzo had slowly melted against him. Given just a little time, he actually fell asleep, like he never did in public. 

The rocking chair worked like magic. 

Hanzo almost never sat on it on his own, and never for long, but if Jesse sat there, it was only a matter of time before he found himself with a lapful of proud Japanese prince. As a dragon-taming technique, it had proven to be fail-proof. However, Jesse was careful not to overuse it, since Hanzo was a clever bastard who would figure him out if he used the chair to get through his stubbornness every time, and he was also proud enough to deprive himself of things he enjoyed if he thought any of them could be possibly interpreted as a weakness, even if it was a weakness for indulging in something as simple as cuddling on a rocking chair. For such a regal man, Hanzo could be quite silly. The thought brought a smile to Jesse’s lips. 

Outside, rain started to fall. 

Jesse pulled the wooden chair closer to the window, strategically folded his red zarape over one of the armrests, and flopped down with a silly book about a werecoyote who found himself working with an elite team of werewolves and other shifters.

Some time later, the door to their quarters opened, and Hanzo walked in, with a toolbox in one hand and quiver full of new arrows in the other.

“Heya, honey bee,” he greeted, not moving from his chair.

“Hello.”

Both the toolbox and the quiver were set down on the floor next to the couch instead of immediately put away as Hanzo went to the small kitchen, and Jesse winced. Yep, definitely time for the secret weapons.

“Hey, are you makin’ tea?”

“Yes. Would you like some?”

“Sounds good.”

The sound of the rain filled the silence between them, cut every now and then by small noises as the archer brewed the tea, which was yet another indicator of how tired Hanzo was. Overwatch agents were all capable of stealth, but they had nothing on the Shimada brothers. Both Genji and Hanzo went through their everyday lives as if they were infiltrating somewhere, and when they actually tried, they all but disappeared, moving like shadows.

Jesse was pretty sure that wasn’t supposed to be sexy, but… eh.

A steaming cup of tea was presented to him, and the cowboy took it, deliberately wrapping his fingers around Hanzo’s.

“How’cha doin’, babe?”

“I’m good. Just a little tired,” came the swift response, and the minute twitch of eyebrows that preceded all of Hanzo’s shuttering himself in.

Jesse hastily put the cup down on a nearby table, not minding one bit that almost half of the contents were spilled as he leaned forward to catch Hanzo’s wrist.

“Hey.”

“What?” and there was that flat tone, the one that was cold enough to halt most attempts at conversation, but not so much that it could be considered hostile.

Jesse smiled.

“You got a…” he gestured with his free hand at his head, tugging gently with the other to pull him closer, to make him lean down and allow him to pluck the little blue thing from his hair. 

“Oh,” Hanzo said, studying the tiny piece of blue turkey feather. “It’s from the fletching.”

“Mhm,” this time, when he tugged at him, it was to kiss him, softly.

Letting out a deep breath, Hanzo relented and let himself be pulled onto Jesse’s lap, his body molding to the cowboy’s almost instinctively, as if it had been made to fit right there, with both legs over Jesse’s and his temple against his shoulder.

Jesse plucked another small scrap of blue feather from his black hair. Since it was already a mess, the cowboy pulled the black ribbon off, undoing the pony tail entirely. Hanzo groaned, but didn’t protest further as Jesse resumed the rocking motion with a soft push against the floor.

He buried his flesh fingers in the black strands, combing through it gently and messing it up. Hanzo sighed in mock annoyance, and Jesse smiled as he leaned forward just a bit to bury his nose in the warm, silky hair, inhaling deep.

“You’re like a dog,” the archer said, but his words held even less bite and more fondness than usual.

“Can ya blame me? You smell so good.”

“I haven’t even showered since this morning.”

Jesse watched the rain come down harder outside, the drops against the glass becoming rivers now.

“Maybe that’s it. That fancy shampoo smells alright, but I like you better, sweet pea.”

“You’re ridiculous,” his words were low, and soft somewhere close to Jesse’s throat.

“If you say so, your highness.”

“I do.”

Jesse chuckled at the tickle of Hanzo’s beard as he felt him smile against him.

“Han?”

“Mh?”

“What was the name of that song?”

“Dore?”

“The one at the end of that old movie? The one with mount Fuji?”

Hanzo’s laugh was barely more than an exhalation, and he didn’t bother reminding Jesse that there were hundreds, if not thousands, of movies that included mount Fuji.

“You know, somethin’ like,” and he started to hum the melody. He remembered the tune perfectly, and even part of the sweet Japanese lyrics, but he butchered it on purpose, letting it become an endless rhythm to accompany the rain and the barely audible creaks of the old wood as he rocked the chair and let his fingers play with his lover’s hair.

If Hanzo’s body had relaxed against Jesse’s, now it had gone completely boneless as his breathing evened out. Gently, without ever breaking the almost hypnotic rocking motion, Jesse pulled the zarape free and spread it over the both of them, and let his lips rest against the silky mess of Hanzo’s hair, basking in the simple existence of the treasure he’d found without ever knowing it was what he’d been searching for.


End file.
